


Learned the Way to Live

by kissedtheeaves



Series: Fairly Domestic [3]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Wade Has Issues, and it’s time to deal with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissedtheeaves/pseuds/kissedtheeaves
Summary: “It’s possible I have issues,” Wade says.Neena sits across the table, her fingers curled around the warmth of a latte. “Possible,” she replies, with that flatly amused tone that he’s grown to appreciate. “I’d even say likely.”“What gave it away?”“You run around the city in red spandex killing assassins.” She gives him a raised brow. “Aren’t you also an orphan? And, still sort of in mourning? While also banging your out-of-time metal-armed boyfriend?”“You make me sound like a potential Avenger.”Or, the fic in which Wade deals with the aftermath of a home invasion.





	Learned the Way to Live

The problem with bad guys is this: they usually have friends. Or at least, people they owe money to. And those people tend to get irritated when said bad guys end up headless, limbless, blown up, set on fire—

“These are a few of my favorite things,” Wade murmurs, putting a sing-song lilt to the words. That song is going to be stuck in his head for days.

He walks down the stairs, gun resting in his hand. Before all of this, the weapon would have fit against familiar calluses—but now that his skin can heal anything, every brush of contact has that startlingly raw quality. And while it makes some things a pain—blisters are a bitch—there are also upsides. (Sex, mostly.) He remembers Ness enjoying that she could make him react with such a light touch, had enjoyed—

He tamps down on that thought.

But he can’t stop thinking of her—not now, not when there’s a broken lock and a cooling body in his new apartment. She’s with him in moments like these.

So he hums another song from the Sound of Music and keeps to the shadows of their neighbor’s hedges.

He finds the black SUV a block away. It’s a rental—which means it’s not armored. That’s all Wade need to know; his elbow slams into the driver’s side window. He feels his bone give before the safety glass, but he’ll heal. He always does. The safety glass buckles inward and a half-shout, half-curse emerges from the interior. The car’s interior smells of gun oil and chemical cleaner, and then Wade’s hand is around a man’s throat and he’s dragging him out onto the sidewalk.

It must be a bit of a shock to be bodily hauled from a car by a naked man with a gun. The driver opens his mouth to scream.

Wade doesn’t let him.

He returns to the apartment, his right arm bloody from the elbow down—mostly his own blood. Nate kneels beside their balcony door, metal fingers delicately probing the broken lock. He glances up, eyes sweeping over Wade’s bare form. “You’re going to drip on the carpet,” is all he says, before turning his attention back to his task. The body is gone and Wade doesn’t ask where it went. His adrenaline has begun to dwindle, and suddenly he’s exhausted and so very done.

He rinses the blood from his hand and when he emerges from the bathroom, he finds Dorothy sitting on the dresser. Without pausing, he reaches down and scoops her up, carrying her to the bed. She seems a bit confused, but delighted when she finds a stray thread on the duvet.

Wade reloads a gun, the weight of the clip almost a comfort. Nathan comes into the bedroom. His bedhead is ridiculous, hair in all directions, and Wade loves him like this—rumpled and casual. He’s wearing clean sweatpants; no blood spatter is visible on his clothing. He must have changed.

“Body’s behind the dumpster,” says Nathan, sliding into bed. He gives the cat a look, but doesn’t protest. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Weasel knows some cleaners, right?”

“He’s got a few contacts. Well, more than a few. I’ll make sure he sends the pros, not Dopinder armed with a mop.”

“That’s something, at least.”

Nathan lapses into silence, and Wade wonders if he should fill it. Chatter is his weapon, armor, and favorite way to entertain himself. But now, he’s just too damned tired. He feels a hand touch the back of his neck, thumb sliding down the muscles beside his spine. Nate’s not usually a handsy person, and for the most part, Wade’s fine being the cuddler. But he’s come to appreciate these moments when Nate reaches out. Some of the tension leaves Wade’s shoulders, but he can still feel the churning of his stomach.

Fucking henchmen. Broke into his fucking apartment. To get at him.

 _Again_ , a small part of him whispers.

* * *

The next morning, Nathan scrambles eggs with the kind of pin-point precision that he normally uses when aiming a rifle. Every movement is restrained, but there’s a tightness in his shoulders. A vein runs down his forearm, and Wade finds himself looking at that, rather than Nate’s face. “Didn’t exactly get a name off the driver,” he says, “but I did find the name of the car’s rental company. Figured I’d pop in—check their records to see who made the purchase.”

The clink-clink of fork against bowl goes silent. “Pop in?”

“I’m not going to kill the rental guys,” says Wade, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Not unless something goes sideways.”

“I mean,” says Nate, pouring the eggs into a skillet, “that subtlety isn’t your strong suit. I could go.”

“The last time you got information out of a guy, you had him tied to a chair and were fondling a gun.”

“That wasn’t—”

“Weasel says he still can’t feel his left pinky.”

“Weasel is full of shit. And you’ve got a memorable face.” Nathan slides the cooked eggs onto two plates, reaching across to pluck bread from the toaster. “If things do go sideways, they’ll be able to ID you easily.”

“And a fucking cyborg won’t draw their attention?”

“I’m not—” Nathan closes his eyes and exhales sharply. “Maybe we should bring in some outside help.”

“Who are you suggesting?”

* * *

“It’s possible I have issues,” Wade says to Domino.

Neena sits across the table, her fingers curled around the warmth of a latte. The morning is a chilly one, fog slunk into the city like a particularly stubborn hangover.

“Possible,” she replies, with that flatly amused tone that he’s grown to appreciate. “I’d even say likely.”

“What gave it away?”

“You run around the city in red spandex killing assassins.” She gives him a raised brow. “Aren’t you also an orphan? And, still sort of in mourning? While also banging your out-of-time metal-armed boyfriend?”

“You make me sound like a potential Avenger.”

“They broke up, remember?”

“Well there goes that dream.”

“Wade,” says Neena, “you’re not exactly the poster boy for well-adjusted.”

“How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?”

Wade gestures around them—at the small, hole-in-the-wall coffeeshop that Neena just managed to stumble upon. The espresso tastes like sin and the croissants were probably air-lifted from Paris. “Fellow orphan, grew up in a shithole, was tortured and somehow came out just fine. How?” He holds up a finger. “And don’t you dare say ‘luck.’ That’s a copout.”

She shrugs. “Simple. I kept going. The luck just sort of finds me.”

He picks up his tiny espresso cup. “That answer is infuriatingly zen. You’re like one of those self-help podcasts.”

“You listen to self-help podcasts?”

“Dopinder does.”

“Point is,” says Neena. “Life usually sucks. In some ways. In a lot of ways. And I have plenty of issues—I just don’t deal with them quite as publicly as you do. I learned ways to cope. You find what makes life good and then you hold on to that. You get through life by living.”

Wade leans back in his chair, considering. He’s sure her advice is good—but even the best advice isn’t quite applicable to him. Getting through life by living—well, that seems a bit laughable when he can’t die. But he gets what she’s trying to drive at. Wade can’t die, sure. But he can certainly stop _living_.

He stopped when Ness died.

He only started again when he found purpose. Other people to live for.

Fuck, now _he’s_ beginning to sound like those podcasts. “I have something to live for,” he says, smiling. And the words seem right, settling in his stomach like the warmth of the food. “And I need your help.”

“Sure,” Neena says. “What?”

“We need to kill some guys.”

* * *

Neena goes into the car rental place by herself. Wade waits on a bench outside, giving some pigeons the last crumbles of his breakfast. The birds coo with ever-increasing intensity when they realize there’s food to be had. Maybe he should have brought Nathan along, if only for someone else to talk to. But there’s some part of Wade that still wants to keep Nathan out of this; and he knows it’s that irrational part that is still reeling from the loss of Ness. Nate can take care of himself, but Wade wants to take care of this. To prove that he can, and to perhaps, settle a few of his own ghosts. 

When Neena walks outside, she has a business card (a phone number hastily scribbled on the back), the name of an accountant, and a smug smile. “Easy,” she says, flicking him the business card. “You can keep that.”

Wade flips it over. “You mean you don’t want to go on a date with… Digby Hughes? Oh, poor kid.”

“He’ll survive the loss.” She slides into the driver’s seat. “And we have our contact. An accountant—does some work on the side for a crime ring that runs out of Toronto.”

“Please, please tell me they were behind the maple syrup heist.”

“Not to my knowledge—they’re more into meth.” Neena gives him a small, sharp smile as she twists the key in the ignition. “What did you do to piss them off?”

“Besides buy Mrs. Butterworth? No idea.”

“Well, maybe we should talk to that accountant—see if he can give us an idea of why Canadian mafia put a hit out on you.”

* * *

There’s no maple syrup heist.

Rather, there’s a warehouse. A 40-something guy with far too many loyal henchmen, an office with a bulletproof door, and several unmarked packages meant for smuggling across the border. 

Neena kills the security system; Wade does the same to a sentry who sees them coming. 

For a moment, Wade considers sneaking into the building. But Nate’s right: subtlety has never been his thing. So he crashes into the front doors, and draws enough fire that Neena can sneak in without much danger. The bullets sting and one of them manages to take a kneecap, but Wade stumbles into the battle with swords drawn and teeth bared in a smile. 

It’s not a fair fight. And when they’re finished, it’s a single man on the concrete ground with a sword through his thigh and curses streaming from his mouth. 

Wade squats beside him. “My name is Wade Wilson. You put a hit out on my cat. Prepare to die."

“Motherfucker,” says the man, voice hoarse. “I know who you are. Winnipeg, last April. You murdered my cousin."

“What were you doing in Winnipeg?” asks Neena, frowning. 

“Wishing that crime had been going on literally anywhere else,” replies Wade. He turns his attention back to the man. “So what, you thought you’d come into my apartment and kill me?"

“See how you like it,” snarls the man. “Thought you were safe at home. You should know how it feels—"

Wade ends the villainous speech with a pull of the trigger.

Okay, several pulls. The guy looks a bit like a colander when Wade’s done.

“That’s for almost killing my cat,” he says. “And my boyfriend.” 

“That is disgusting,” says Neena, from a few paces away. She wrinkles her nose. “I think you got blood spatter on my boots.” 

“I’m working out my issues,” Wade says. “Now, be a dear and fuck with the security cameras.”

“They shorted out the moment we walked inside.”

He sets the warehouse ablaze. It’s to cover evidence—and perhaps because Wade likes seeing it on fire.

When they get back into Neena’s car, she says, “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” Her fingers settle on the steering wheel. “Also, you owe me. I’m not sure how I’m going to collect, but I’ve got a few favors coming.”

“Agreed.” He leans in, rests his head on her shoulder. “Anything for family.”

“Get off before I veer into oncoming traffic.”

* * *

When he comes home, Wade finds Nathan working on the balcony door.

He feels lighter—and he’s not sure if it’s the post-mission high or because he has someone to come home to. But either way, Wade’s smiling as he walks into the apartment. Dorothy sits on the back of the loveseat, tail curled around her paws. Wade gives her a few scratches before looking at Nathan.

“Fixing the lock?” asks Wade. “You know the landlord is supposed to do that, right? That’s literally why I pay rent.”

Nathan hesitates and Wade knows him well enough to hear something in that silence. It’s not quite guilt, but in the same neighborhood.

“What are you doing to our poor door?” asks Wade. “You’re deflowering her, aren’t you? Putting something in her that was not meant to go there.”

“Half the time I don’t even know what you’re saying,” Nathan says, but his metal fingers are still working, twisting wires and tucking them into the small lock. “And don’t worry. The door will open for you. And anyone else I program into it.”

Wade shakes his head. “Please tell me there isn’t a pressure pad beneath our ‘Welcome’ mat.”

Nathan shrugs.

“You do realize this is an apartment not a fortress, right?”

Nathan rises to his feet. For all that he’s several inches shorter than Wade, he always makes a more imposing figure when he moves. When he’s on a mission, or angry, or even horny, his steps seem to smooth out into a prowl. He’s all intent and action, and fuck, if Wade doesn’t get a little hard just seeing Nathan move.

“This place should be a fortress,” says Nathan. “An empty building with no neighbors as collateral damage. No balconies, no flimsy front doors. No posted address, for fuck’s sake.”

“Our address isn’t posted—”

“It’s scribbled on a post-it in Weasel’s bar.”

“—That doesn’t count.”

“You picked a place that is impossible to defend,” says Nathan, “and give me shit for trying to defend it?”

Wade’s touched a nerve and he isn’t even sure how he managed to do it.

He steps closer, hands on Nathan’s chest. His muscles are so tense they might as well be all metal. Nate looks away, gaze scanning their surroundings. As if for threats. And then Wade gets it, because it’s what he’s been feeling for the last twenty-four hours.

Nathan’s rattled. He may not have said a word—because he never does—but having bad guys in his home must have brought up all sorts of bad memories. Fuck. Wade should have thought of that, if he hadn’t been wrapped up in his own issues. They’re both still reeling from the loss of lives they should have had, and trying to find their place in this life instead.

Wade kisses the corner of Nate’s mouth. The rasp of stubble and taste of chapstick is familiar and good. He could kiss Nathan for hours, but this is more important. He pulls back an inch, sees the wariness still playing across Nate’s face.

“I,” he says solemnly, “am really hard to kill.”

“Wade—”

“No, listen to me. I spent weeks at it after Vanessa died. Every way you can think of. Ropes, knives, poison, an incident at the zoo—”

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Nathan.

“—And none of it left a mark.” Wade gives Nathan’s chest a little pat. “You’re stuck with me, Nate. But if you need to booby trap the apartment, go ahead. You can be all paranoid and I’ll be a homicidal whirlwind of death. We deal with shit in our own ways. Just know that when we never get our security deposit back, it’s your fault.”

That gets him a half-smile. It’s a flicker of amusement, there and gone again, but it’s enough.

“You killed them, didn’t you?” asks Nate. His hands settle on Wade’s waist.

“Shot them, dismembered, and then set on fire.” Wade hums a few bars of _These are a few of my favorite things_. “Canadian mafia has been foiled again.”

“The _what?_ ”

“Tell you about it over dinner.” Wade pauses. “Is anyone else craving pancakes?”

Nate shakes his head, but he goes to the cupboard and pulls out a bin of flour. Wade sits on a stool at the counter, chin propped in his hands, smiling.

It’s not the life he expected—but it’s still pretty good. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


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